The Safe Haven
by Pacmayne
Summary: Drew had to prove his worth to his dad, who appeared to him in a dream. The problem was, he didn't think he could make the journey. Ben wasn't about to lose his best friend to some dumb quest (which sounded awesome). Nico had a job to do, and this little Latino kid wasn't making it easy. How can Nico get these two half-bloods to camp, all the way across the country, in one piece?
1. The Dream

**Author's Note: Hey, I'm Pacmayne, and I'm here to bring you the first chapter of my story. So my friend and I are kind of working on this together, and hopefully I can finish it, because I like the idea. Since I have somebody at my side to push me further, I have a feeling I can do it.**

**I know that people don't typically like OC stories, so I decided I was going to have a lot of the main characters from PJatO appear from time to time in here. Just please, give it a chance.**

**Also, THoO does NOT happen in this story. The only reason why is because I have no idea what is going to happen after the war. This story takes place about five years after TLO.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and if you did, I'd apprieciate it if you could leave a review telling me what you think. Stay tuned for more!**

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One

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The Dream

* * *

**A**t first, Drew didn't really know what he was looking at—the scenery was all just a blur of bright green and blue and brown. But then the landscape began to clear up, and when everything finally came into focus, Drew didn't like what he saw. He recognized the thin green forest that stood before him. He could almost still hear the monster's dying breath, a bloodcurdling shriek that haunted him for the rest of his life.

"After all these years, this place remains unpleasant for you?" a thunderous voice inquired.

Drew jumped—the man had just appeared there, right next to him. He didn't know the man, and he wasn't anyone Drew had ever seen before. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a well-trimmed beard, marbled gray and black like a storm cloud, and a face that was proud and grim and handsome. He was about six feet tall, and wore a dark blue pinstriped suit.

Just _standing_ next to him, Drew could feel the intense power the man radiated—the air was crackling with electricity, and it smelled of ozone.

The man studied Drew with curious, rainy gray eyes, like he didn't quite know what to think of him, and it was then that Drew realized the man was waiting for an answer.

"Yeah," he said, hesitating. "I—I almost died here."

The man raised a bushy gray eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Yet it has been over half a decade since the occurrence."

Drew didn't like the way this man, who he didn't even know, was being so condescending towards him, as if Drew was his son or something. "Who are you, anyway?"

The man grunted. "Do you not recognize yourself in my face? I am your father, child."

Drew stared at him. The small ADD part of him recalled that one scene from _Star Wars, _with Luke and Darth Vader, while the other part of him, the rational part, was beginning to realize that this must of been a dream.

Drew tore his eyes away from his imposter dad and took in his surroundings. It was about noon, with the sun high and bright in the vast, clear blue sky. Even though he somehow knew in his gut that it was a hot summer day, he didn't feel any of the heat. There was no wind, though even if there was, Drew had a feeling he wouldn't feel it. It was like he was a ghost, forbidden to make contact with the physical world.

He stood on a worn asphalt street with a dozen interconnected, two-story houses at his back, and to his front, a vibrant Italian countryside that spread out as far as the eye could see. To his left the road hit a dead end, and there loomed the forest that had almost been the place of his death when he was seven years old. Other than a strange, slight gray hue that had dulled the scenery around him, this little neighborhood in Aviano looked just how it did when Drew left it seven years ago.

His eyes landed back on the man, who was watching Drew with silent interest, as a toddler would watch a newborn sibling. "This is just another one of my vivid dreams. You're not my father—you aren't even real."

The man's eyes twinkled with deriding mirth. "Oh? Bold words for such a young half-blood."

Drew was starting to get frustrated. He'd had dreams like this one before, dreams so realistic that it took him a while to realize that it was just that—a dream. But he'd never seen this man before, and usually he was able to just end his dream once he knew it wasn't real. Yet, for some reason, that didn't seem to be working for him...

The man tilted his head. "So you're beginning to understand."

Drew got the strange sense that the man could read his mind. "Understand ... what?"

"Your true heritage, of course."

"My true heritage?" Drew blinked. "That's dumb. My dad's name is Rich."

The man seemed to be personally offended by this. "_Dumb_, is it?"—he gestured to the woods. "Was the harpy in the forest _dumb_, boy?"

Drew's whole world tipped. "That was a _harpy_? Wait—you—you're somehow connected with the—the harpy?"

The man sniffed indignantly. "I tamed the first of the harpies, did I not?"

"You did?" Drew said, utterly surprised for a moment, then stopped himself. With a frown, he realized what he was doing. "Damnit, I need to stop this. I'm just arguing with my subconscience or something."

Drew held his hands out to his imposter father. "That's what you are, right? Just some image my brain cooked up for the hell of it?"

The man's eyes sparked with energy as he glowered at Drew. "And so you continue to disregard the signs. Perhaps you are not worthy after all."

Drew's jaw clenched. "What signs? You know what, nevermind, I'm not going—"

"Your entire existence, the signs have been there!" the man thundered. "But you were too insistent to live a mortal life—a _normal_ life—to see them."

Drew's eyebrows furrowed. "I—_mortal?_ You—you say that as if ... As if you aren't."

The man crossed his arms and scoffed. "Observant, aren't you? I think I'm beginning to regret this."

"Wait ... Regret what?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Interested _now_, are you?"

Drew hesitated. He knew that he obviously was getting nowhere with his argumentative attitude, as this stranger was even as stubborn as Drew was. Since he wasn't waking up from his dream, he thought _eh, why not play along?_

_"_Alright," Drew said. "You've got my attention."

The man grunted. "I am here to give you _assistance_. Now that you are beginning to understand, your scent will become stronger. You will be hunted, and it is vital you have the ability to protect yourself—on the east coast of America, there is a safe haven for your kind."

None of this truly made any sense to Drew, but he decided to go with it. "Okay, so how do I get there?"

The man studied him. "You are not like the others. Not as strong. Prove yourself to me, child. Make your way to this safe haven on foot and show me your worth."

Drew glanced back at one of the houses, at the house with the number eleven in bold lettering painted next to the the dark green door. So badly, he wanted to bust that door open and run into the house he had once occupied. He wished he could go back to the times when his mom and dad were still together, back to the times when he didn't have to take care of two annoying babies. He yearned to be able to run around the neighborhood with his friends, barefoot and stress-free, and his heart ached when he reminisced about the good old days, back when everybody was happy.

Drew faced the man, ready to be done with this dream. "Alright, piece of cake. When do I start?"

"Immediately, of course."

"Okay." Drew rolled his eyes. "Cool. Can I wake up now?"

The man made a _humph_ noise. "You are fortunate you are my son, elsewise I would have blasted you to bits by now at such impudence." Suddenly, he cocked his head to one side, as if listening. Drew strained his ears to try and catch a little bit of what the man was listening to, but he heard nothing.

The man turned back towards him. "We have spoken much longer than I had anticipated. I must leave you now."

"Oh, no!" Drew said, with as much sarcasm he could muster. "Don't do that!"

The man wagged a finger at him, but for once he seemed amused, not angry. "You had best watch your tongue, boy. The other gods are not as forgiving of impertinence as I am."

"Other _gods_?"

"My time is up." The air around the man began to crackle with electricity, and Drew took a few steps back. The man seemed to be warning him with his eyes, and he said, "I hope this visit shall not be a waste of breath."

"Um—"

Huge gray and black storm clouds began gathering in the sky, which had been clear moments before, blocking out the sun and darkening the world. Thunder rumbled overhead. The man said, "Prove yourself a worthy son of mine—a worthy son of Zeus."

And with a blinding flash of lightning, the man was gone. Colors began to mix with each other, and they swirled around in a blur, swirling faster and faster to the point that Drew felt dizzy. The world faded further and further away, dimming down until everything finally went black.

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**Review, please!**


	2. The Substitute

Two

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The Substitute

* * *

**D**rew's fist was poised in front of the green metal door of his eighth grade classroom, but he just couldn't bring himself to knock. A bad feeling churned in his stomach like sea sickness, and it wasn't because he was two hours late for school.

Drew stood out there for what seemed like hours, hesitating, and not being quite sure what he was hesitating for. Subconsciously, his gaze fixed on his breath, watching the air puff out of his mouth with each exhale, then disappear into the frigid January morning fog.

A sense of foreboding floated in the sky like low hanging clouds. On a typical Monday morning, it wasn't like Drew was super ecstatic or anything, but this feeling felt different—much more dangerous than your usual Monday morning blues.

Drew broke out of his stupor and glanced around nervously. He hoped that nobody had seen him standing outside his classroom door like he had forgotten how to use the doorknob. That would kind of ruin the rep he had around Banta.

To his relief, the school grounds were empty. The yellowing fields of grass, but mostly dirt, were moist with dew. Lining the edge of the campus, naked gray trees stood proud and tall, looking like skeletal hands reaching out of the earth. This thought didn't make Drew feel any better.

Puddles of water littered the bare, asphalt playground that lay before the portables serving as classrooms. Banta Elementary wasn't exactly a rich school. Makeshift concrete ramps, connecting the portables to the main foundation of the school, were probably the best the district could do. But Drew still loved the school and everyone in it, even the people he didn't necessarily like. It was the personality of _all_ the students and of _all_ the staff, put together, that made Banta his most favorite school out of the five that he had attended.

Drew slowly lowered his fist, and it dropped to his side. His fingers brushed his pocket, and he felt his heart beat quicken. Not for the first time that day, he had felt the slim object, fit so snugly in his pocket, shift slightly, and he worried that it would open up and rip a hole in his jeans ... or in his leg.

He remembered how he'd found it when he woke up the morning after his dream. How it had just been lying there in a small crater of dirt in his front yard, shining in the sunlight oh so innocently.

Oh, it was anything but innocent.

On the car ride to school, Drew had to keep checking and re-checking his pocket to remind himself that _it_ _was_ _real_, and that _this_ _was_ _real_, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around the simple fact that this _thing_ in his pocket...

Drew suddenly heard laughing in the classroom. The green metal door swung open so fast, he barely had enough time to blink, and sidestep out of the way. The bald-headed man, who had opened the door, didn't offer Drew any praise for his quick reflexes. Instead, he smirked, like _real_ _slick, buddy._

"Good morning, Mr. Spear," Drew mumbled.

Mr. Spear was a substitute teacher who often came to Banta. He claimed that it was because the eighth graders were his favorite class, but Drew suspected it was because Banta paid the highest. He was in his thirties, with skin that seemed to be permanently sunburnt. His iris' were green, or maybe blue, and even though he had smile crinkles around his eyes, they had a kind of cruel light in them.

He was a big guy, standing at about six foot three, and he was beefy like a linebacker, but still had a lot of muscle mass. He had red and brown stubble on his chin, so Drew knew that he would be a ginger if he had hair on his head. He had a big, booming voice that people instantly shut up to listen to, and he wasn't afraid to use it.

Mr. Spear moved aside to let Drew in. "You want to come in now?—or would you rather stand out here with your dick in your hands?" He murmured that last part with a malicious grin.

Drew felt his face heat up as he stepped over the threshold. Mr. Spear had never said anything like that to him before, and he wasn't quite sure how to respond to it. "Uh ... Yeah."

He walked to his desk in silent shock—which was thankfully only a few feet away from the door—feeling his classmates' eyes on him. A couple kids stifled their giggling. He didn't really mind all the attention. After years of just naturally being in the limelight, Drew has finally learned how to stay out of it—how to avoid it. He didn't like it, but he didn't mind it. The eyes didn't leave him until he sat down at his desk, and one of his buddies looked at him questionably. Drew cast his eyes downward as he pulled his hood off his head, trying to ignore everyone.

His best friend Ben Villa stood up in his seat, at the other end of the room, to grin at Drew, but he wasn't in the mood for Ben's senseless ramblings. On a good day, he didn't mind Ben's majorly ADHD nature, but right then, Drew simply didn't want to talk. Mr. Spear was teaching the class something about language arts, and his booming voice faded to the back of Drew's mind, as did the annoyingly persistent chatter his classmates emitted. He glared at the empty desk top in front of him, and felt the probing foot of a flirty girl in his back—Violet or something. He ignored her.

Drew's hand found his pocket, once again, just to check _one last time_—

He felt the coolness of the metal against his fingers, and he knew it with a sinking heart: _It was real._

* * *

At twelve forty, the bell for lunch recess rang, shocking Drew back into reality. He realized that he hadn't done even a little bit of the work that was assigned—he'd been too preoccupied in thinking about his dream.

Mr. Spear glanced at the clock, disinterested. "Twelve minutes and it's lunch time. Do whatever—work on your narrative, gossip, jerk each other off—whatever."

The class erupted into laughter. Spear had explained to them that today was his last day at Banta, or as a teacher in general, so he didn't really care what was said or done. The eighth graders were having a blast. The kids began meeting up with their friends and trading stories, laughing loudly and obnoxiously.

Ben slid into the seat in front of Drew with an exaggerated grin. "What's up, my _nigga?_"

He shrugged. He wasn't really in the mood for Ben's immense amount of sarcasm at the moment. His friend's grin faltered for only about half a second.

"Oh. So it's one of _those_ days, huh?"

"One of _those_ days? What's that supposed to mean?"

Ben raised a shoulder. "Well, you know... One of your moody days."

Drew scowled as he slipped his binder into his backpack. "I do not have moody days."

Ben look unconvinced. He gestured to his friend animately and exclaimed, "But you just!—Oh, never mind." In one casual motion, he picked up Drew's sharpener and examined it, something he'd done about a thousand times. "So what happened?"

Drew stared at him, considering his strange dream, and wondered if he'd ever see this kid again. It was hard to believe—for the past two years, Ben Villa had been Drew's best friend, through good times and bad.

He'd gotten used to seeing this short, skinny Latino kid practically every day. And saying that this kid was short was an understatement—or an overstatement, depending on how you look at it. He was thirteen years old, but he was just barely five foot tall, making Drew nine inches taller than him. Ben was skinny, but with surprisingly taut muscles. The inches he lacked, however, he made up for with attitude. He never knew when enough was enough, and he used to always spend a day in the office "as discipline."

Ben had big brown eyes that held a certain kind of defiant fire in them, which usually had him pegged a troublemaker by teachers at first glance. His long brown hair was silky, and curled at the tips, so he sometimes looked like some sort of Mexican Justin Bieber, except the two had completely different styles. Plus, Ben Villa was a lot cooler than JB.

A sharp stab of pain brought Drew back from his daze—Ben had pinched his shoulder. He peered at him intently from under his bangs, and Drew realized he was waiting for an answer. He wondered with slight embarrassment how long he'd been staring at nothing.

"Uh ... Can you repeat the question, please?"

"I said, 'what happened?'"

The weight in Drew's pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a pound. "Well—I had a bad night."

"A bad night?" Ben's eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of a bad night?"

Drew tried to play it off with a casual shrug. "I don't know, I just had this weird dream—listen, I'll tell you about it at lunch, okay?"

"Why not here?" Ben glanced around. "Nobody's listening, I think." He then leaned in close as if to tell a secret, but he didn't lower his voice. "But seriously, if it's, like, a _weird_ weird dream, it's not really a big deal. Once, Jackie told me about how in her dream, Asa picked her up and put her legs around—"

Drew held up a hand with his eyes squeezed shut, as if that would stop the images from appearing in his mind. "I really don't want to hear about Jackie's sex fantasies, okay? I'll just tell you later."

Ben shrugged, his eyes alight with mirth. "Whatever, dude."

* * *

"Hey, Ben, and, um, the blond kid," Mr. Spear called, "come erase the boards."

Drew looked at the whiteboards with disdain. There didn't seem to be an inch of the surface that wasn't scribbled all over with green, blue, and red markers. It looked like a unicorn threw up all over it. He wondered why Spear had let the kids write all over it in the first place—it seemed like a huge waste of ink, which most teachers went ballistic over.

Most of the kids were already out the door and lining up outside under the awning, the guys shoving each other and acting like idiots, the girls huddled up in giggling little groups.

Mr. Spear was typing on his laptop. He glanced over the top of it at Drew once he noticed his hesitation. "If you get it over with now, we can go to lunch ... or would you rather stay in here?"

Ben looked about as excited for this task as Drew felt, but his stomach rumbled, and he figured he didn't really have a choice. "C'mon, man," Drew grumbled, patting his friend on the back. "Let's just do it."

Drew grabbed an eraser and started on the right side, which was closest to the door. He swiped the words _Nadia wuz here_ off the board, along with a couple of inappropriate drawings.

At his left, Ben grudgingly began erasing some of the scribbles. "'I la-la-la-la-love you!' I wonder who _that_ could be."

Drew smiled to himself and continued working. About a minute later, they'd managed to clean maybe half the board up. In the back of his mind, Drew registered the sound of Spear clicking his laptop shut, and his heavy footsteps moving toward the door, but he focused his attention on erasing all the stupid little messages written everywhere. The thought of getting to lunch and quelling his hunger powered him on.

It wasn't until the lights went out and the classroom door slammed shut, did Drew look up from his task with a startled jump.

"Woah!" Ben yelped. "What's your problem?"

Drew didn't bother correcting his friend on his manners, because the sight in front of him was kind of unnerving. Mr. Spear leaned against the door frame casually, his arms crossed. Drew realized his head almost touched the top of the threshold. Did he get taller?

"Finally!" Spear grinned. "We're alone."

Drew's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Spear frowned. "You deaf? I said, 'Finally! We're alone.'"

He straightened, and Drew watched in horror as his head smashed through the door frame, bending the metal like it was clay. Light from outside filtered through. Spear continued as though nothing happened, taking a step toward Drew and Ben. "You know, I got to hand it to you. It took me a while to figure it all out. You know the deal—who are the half-bloods, who aren't. It smelled like three, but there were actually two!"

_Half-bloods_, Drew thought. _He said half-bloods._

Outside, Drew heard a collective gasping. A couple dozen kids all tried to peer through the window at once. Somebody tried the door, but it was locked shut. _Get the police_, he yearned silently.

Mr. Spear spread his arms out to Drew and Ben, grinning like a maniac. "It's lunchtime."

Suddenly, Drew saw that there was a thin, silver pole about six feet long in their teacher's hand. The tip was sharp and bronze and it glinted in the dim light. It was a javelin, like the kind you'd see in movies like _300_.

_Spear_, he realized. _Oh_.

"What the fuck, dude?" Ben dropped his eraser, backing away slowly.

Drew stood with his feet glued to the ground. He watched in complete and utter terror as his substitute teacher began to change right in front of his eyes.

Spear grew taller and wider, standing about eight feet tall, his no-longer bald head almost touching the ceiling. His limbs and body became thicker and much more muscled. His khakis were now high-waters, skin-tight, and ripping. His dress shoes burst open and revealed hairy paw-like feet like that of a bear. The buttons on his shirt shot off and flew in different directions, one hitting Ben in the face ("Ow!").

Spear's shirt tore into two pieces, showing off an enormous chest, shag-carpeted with thick brown fur. His finger nails elongated into claws, and hair grew all over his face and arms and legs. His nose became snoutlike, his teeth pointed. He looked like an uprighted bear, but still ... human.

Drew couldn't believe what he was seeing, and he heard Ben gasp. His heart pounded in his ears and his legs were shaking. He probably wouldn't have moved if Ben had not grabbed his shoulder, his voice breathless and terrified, "We gotta get outta here, man."

Mr. Spear swung his javelin experimentally. "It's been a while since I've used this thing... 'Bout time I test it out."

Without warning, he threw the javelin at the two boys. Drew stumbled backwards, knocking into Ben, who tried to steady himself by grabbing Drew, who's weight sent the two down to the floor. The spear sailed harmlessly over their heads.

Before anyone could get up, Spear was there, as fast as a bullet. He grabbed Drew by his shirt and lifted him with just one hand, holding him up to his face. His green-blue eyes were full of hate. Spear's hot breath smelled like meat ... or blood. "Some son of the sky god," he sneered.

In that split second of terror, Drew recalled back to the way he'd killed the harpy in the woods seven years ago, and he knew what to do. He'd sworn he'd never do it again, but he decided he had no choice. He _really_ didn't want to die.

He grabbed the monster's arm with both hands, gripping his fur. Drew screwed his eyes shut in concentration. He felt his stomach heat up until it was nearly painful, like he'd swallowed fire. Electricity arced on his skin, and a jolt went through Mr. Spear as if he'd been shocked. His eyes rolled to the top of his head, and he stumbled backwards into a group of desks, dropping Drew as he did so. The monster's weight broke the the desks, bending the metal and splitting the wood, and he crashed to the ground.

"Drew?" Ben wondered in awe, but the boy in question felt as if there was no time to waste. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the object of his confusion for the past four hours.

In his hand, he held a smooth and silver, thin pocket-knife about three inches long, with rounded edges. Drew spent no time admiring it. He pressed the small, bronze colored button at the top, and the pocket-knife began to change. It grew longer and wider in his hand. Within seconds, he was holding a sword about three feet long, maybe longer. It was golden-bronze, catching the light nicely, double-edged, and Greek-styled, vaguely leaf-shaped, with a smooth leather grip and finger molds like it was made for him.

Ben got up, staring at Drew as if he'd grown three feet, too. The monster grumbled and stumbled to his feet, glancing apprehensively at Drew's blade.

"Now, there's really no need for _that_, is there?" Mr. Spear inched away slowly to the back of the classroom, but Drew didn't leave a lot of space between them, pointing his sword at the monster's chest. _Now I've got you_, he thought.

Then he heard a pounding over at the window. He looked over—Jacqueline Yost was slamming her fist into the glass. The other kids were backed away from her, staring into the classroom in horror. Drew realized that she was trying to get in. But why?

"Look out!" Ben yelled.

Too late did he figure out he was being warned. Drew turned, but he was too slow. Spear had his javelin in his hands, and he swung it like a baseball bat. The pole caught Drew in the chest, and he flew backwards about eight feet. He slammed into the wall and knocked a computer to the floor with him. He felt as if a hundred pound football had just hit him in the chest at ninety miles per hour. He was sure he'd broken a rib or two, because he was _hurt_.

Drew looked up at the monster with difficulty, his vision blurry, sure that Spear was about to stomp on his head and crush his brains, but the monster had lost all his attention in Drew. Instead, he focused on Ben, who had his back against the wall. His chest heaved in fear, and he stared up at the bear-man with wide eyes.

"Hard to believe that _you're_ a demigod," Spear laughed sardonically, pointing his javelin at Ben's head. "You're a little guy, aren't you?"

Big mistake—nobody made fun of Ben Villa's height and got away with it.

Ben's expression changed slightly, his anger overriding his fear. "Fuck you, Bigfoot!"

Mr. Spear smiled cruelly. "It's not the first time the stupid mortals mistook me for that guy. I suppose those can be your last words."

He lunged at Ben, but Drew's friend was ready. He yelled out, and his hands erupted into flames. He grabbed Mr. Spear's wrist, and it caught on fire. The flames slowly crawled up his arm, his fur igniting quickly. Spear stared down at his arm in disbelief at first. Then, the pain began to register. He screamed in panic and waved his arm around stupidly.

The monster stopped to glare witheringly at Ben, who had been staring in shock at what he had just done. Mr. Spear grabbed him around the neck and chucked him halfway across the room. Drew's friend hit some tables and went limp, and his heart went out to him. The flames steadily began to grow on Spear's body, who roared in desperation and anger. The monster's eyes fixed on the boy's limp body, and Drew knew he needed to do something.

He had to be brave, for himself, and his friend.

He forced himself to his feet, breathing hard. He used a desk to steady himself, but he didn't take his eyes off of the flaming monster, who advanced angrily toward Ben's limp body, kicking desks out of the way like they were excercise balls. Ben was still motionlessly lying on a group of tables. Drew's chest felt like it was on fire. His vision was blurry, but he blinked the wetness out of his eyes. He tightened his grip on his sword, and he steadied his breathing.

"Hey! You hairbrained dumbass!" Drew couldn't exactly remember the definition for _hairbrained_, but he knew it meant something like _stupid_.

Mr. Spear turned around and glared at Drew. He almost regretted calling him out, but it had to be done.

"So the child of Zeus dies first?" The monster shrugged his enormous shoulders. "Fine by me—you guys always taste the best."

Spear rushed Drew with blinding speed, raising his javelin to impale him. Drew didn't think, he just reacted. He swung his sword as hard as he could. Too late did he realize he should of just held his sword straight out. The monster's momentum would have carried him straight into the sharp blade. But instead, Drew had swung and missed, just managing to slice some hair off of Spear's stomach.

The monster thrust with his javelin, and Drew made the split-second decision of letting the weight of his sword carry him to the left. The javelin struck open air instead of Drew's face.

The half-blood retreated, turning the monster around. Spear growled a very animalistic growl and feinted toward Drew, who fell for it badly. He flinched away and held up his sword as if to block an attack, but there was no need. The monster threw his head back and laughed scornfully. _Damnit_, Drew thought. _I should have just stabbed him then._

The monster had him trapped, Drew realized with a heavy heart, and he was just playing with him. He wasn't strong enough or good enough to beat this eight foot tall, three hundred pound beast. He would have done his special trick again if he had not felt dead tired. He was barely on his feet, nothing but fear and adrenaline powering him now. His legs were jelly, and every breath hurt.

Spear advanced slowly, swinging his javelin cockily as he cornered Drew. He could still hear Jackie pounding on the window, and he risked a glance. There was a spiderweb of broken glass where she'd been punching. She screamed in frustration and anguish. _It's too late_, Drew wanted to say. _I'm dead anyway._

Ben was still not moving. Drew could see his face now, and his friend had a bloody gash on his forehead. Drew figured that if he wasn't dead at the moment, he would be soon. He'd failed to protect him—they'd failed to protect each other.

He faced the monster in total resignation, his shoulders slumped. Spear could obviously see that he had given up, and he grinned triumphantly. He looked pretty damn freaky, his whole body pretty much engulfed in flames, and his eyes glaring angrily in the orangish light.

The monster raised his javelin, one final time, and Drew wondered if it would hurt. _So much for proving my worth_, he thought bitterly.

"Agrius," a raspy voice said amusedly from behind Drew. "You've sure made a mess of things."

The bear-monster froze, and for once, Drew saw fear in his eyes. The monster seemed to be weighing his options, and he chose one. He threw his javelin at Drew in desperation, putting his entire body into the motion. Drew didn't even have the energy to flinch.

Suddenly, a dark figure stepped in front of Drew silently, raising a pure black sword to swipe the javelin out of the air. The javelin deflected off the metal and impaled the wall instead, sinking into it at about half a foot.

The room seemed to get darker, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. Drew sank to his knees, suddenly feeling as if he could sleep for a million years, and then some. Mr. Spear pointed a threatening claw at the dark figure, but his finger shook. He was obviously scared of this guy, and so was Drew, but as long as Raspy (the figure's name) got rid of Bigfoot, he was cool with Drew.

"You have no business here!" Spear shouted, but his voice wavered. "Leave me to my lunch!"

Raspy glanced around, ignoring the monster's last comment. "Where's Oreius? You left him in Tartarus?"

Spear glowered. "He his too stupid to make his own way out—so I left him."

"Now, that's not very brotherly of you."

The monster growled. "If I go back to Tartarus, then I'll take you with me!"

And the monster, or Mr. Spear, or Agrius, or _whatever_, roared in either pain or anger, Drew didn't know. He charged Raspy, bent over as if to tackle him, but the guy just ducked under the crook of his arm nimbly, turned his blade around so that it pointed downwards, and stabbed the monster in the spine. The tip came out the other side grotesquely.

Mr. Spear's eyes widened in shock, and he stared at Drew incomprehensibly, his jaw slack, and the half-blood stared back.

Black smoke, or mist, rose off of the monster's shuddering body. The dark substance swirled in the air, and it seemed to be sucked into Raspy's sword like a vacuum. Mr. Spear's body began crumbling into black ashes, first the area around the wound, and then his face and head. The flames dwindled away. The ashes turned into the black smoke, which continued to be sucked into the black sword. The whole scene was silently and eerily beautiful, and Drew was entranced as the the last bit, of what used to be his substitute teacher, disappeared.

Raspy straightened, looking at his sword contentedly, but Drew couldn't even come up with a single intelligible thought anymore. He sat back on his heels, absolutely exhausted. His vision blurred, the sudden silence and darkness of the classroom luring him into a much needed sleep. His eyes drifted shut, and one last thought went through his head: _fuck me._


End file.
